I have Earl Grey tea with sourwood honey, and a slice of cheesecake sitting innocently in the fridge, awaiting me.
The cat is asleep on James's chair, a foot away, curled into a neat donut, like an ermine hemerrhoid pillow (and presumably of similiar odor, although I'm not going to snort cat fur just to check the accuracy of my bad similes.)
The vast majority of my Christmas shopping is done. The art gifts aren't, but my friends are a largely agnostic and irreligious bunch, and probably won't much care as long as they show up before July.
It's cold out and warm in here.
And y'know, life is pretty good.